Keepsake
by MollyMayhem84
Summary: Daryl found it ironic that the most unlikely survivor in this hellish workd might just be the one who saves him. Terrible summary. Sort of AU/Crossover. M for Daryl potty-mouth.
1. Chapter 1: Gone

_And in my heart, there are these waters,_

_Where I put you down to lay while I learn to live with it,_

_Until I'm free..._

Chapter 1: Gone.

Daryl Dixon's had lungs finally had enough. He had run for miles, long after the sight of the car had vanished. He knew he couldn't track a car, but he kept running, hoping against hope that maybe the car had broke down, or that maybe she had escaped and was waiting for him to find or her...or maybe...

_No_, he told himself forcefully, as he sunk to the ground, tossing his crossbow and meager garbage bag of belongings aside. His chest was constricted painfully as he willed his stressed lungs to absorb oxygen. He wiped fiercely at the burning in his eyes and laid back against the cool grass beside the weathered asphalt. His loss was starting to sink in, weighing heavily on his chest.

Beth was gone.

The prison was gone.

Rick, gone.

Hershel, gone.

Glenn.

Maggie.

Gone.

He was alone.

A scream pierced the air and Daryl jerked upright. He climbed to his feet and grabbed his bow and the bag, straining to decipher where the noise was coming from. He was certain it was through the woods behind him and he tore off. Maybe Beth had gotten free after all. He shielded his eyes with his arm from the branches, as he barrelled noisily through the brush. Any grace and stealthiness he had in the woods was long abandoned. His cheeks and hands stung from the superficial scratches that the sharp twigs left behind on his skin.

He could smell the decay long before he crashed into the clearing, but before he could react, the toe of his boot snagged an exposed root and sent him tumbling hard to the forest floor. He rolled onto his back and took stock of the threat ahead. There were about a dozen walkers, maybe less, gathering around something he couldn't see through the mass of rotted bodies. He sent a bolt into the forehead of the first walker that he had distracted from its original target. Two others were limping quickly towards him and he tossed his crossbow aside and pulled out the hunting knife clipped to his belt. He raised his right leg and shoved the closest walker backward with his boot, sending it tumbling into its follower with a groan.

Daryl rolled away and sprung to his feet, plunging the blade deep into the rotten skull of the undead man as it clumsily climbed to its feet. Daryl repeated the vicious action with the next walker, and the next. After clearing out enough space around him, he quickly retrieved his abandoned Stryker and loaded it. The bolt whistled through the air before sinking into a particularly rotten female's temple.

Three more to go. He stepped heavily on the forehead of a downed walker and pulled out his bolt with a disgusting slurp and loaded it into his crossbow.

The remaining three were crouched down reaching into what looked like a foxhole, seemingly unaware that Daryl had massacred the rest of their small horde.

He swung his crossbow heavily at the head of the closest one. It had been dead awhile as its skull split open easily and it slumped, finally dead, to the ground. He used his knife to put the remaining two down and stopped to catch his breath and examined the burrow that had the walkers' attention. The long grass that disguised the opening had been flattened and he knelt down to get a closer look.

The opening was small. Even Beth's tiny frame would have trouble wedging itself through. Daryl's disappointment was palpable. He had heard a very human scream, he was sure of it. He mentally cursed himself for his recklessness in chasing a goddamned ghost. Just as he was about to turn around, a feminine whimper sounded from inside the burrow and he felt his hope renew.

"Beth?" He croaked. His throat was parched from his run and battle with the walkers. When no reply sounded back, Daryl plunged his arm up to the shoulder into the foxhole's entrance, groping blindly until his hand hit a warm target. He heard its startled cry and quickly wrapped his hand around what he could only guess was an arm and pulled.

The burrow's occupant thrashed wildly against his grip and he used his free hand to brace himself as he heaved it forward.

"Beth!" Daryl grunted, as he strained to wrestle her out. "It's me!"

The figure stilled and before Daryl could pull her out of the burrow, a small voice called.

"Who's Beth?"

Daryl released his grip and pulled his arm back with such a force that it sent him reeling backwards onto the rotted corpse behind him. He righted himself quickly and tried not to think too much on the putrid slime covering the back of his vest.

he eyed the opening of the foxhole warily, his hand reaching for his hunting knife instinctually, only to find the leather sheath empty. He cursed under his breath and searched the ground around him desperately.

He finally spotted the black gore covered blade near the opening of the burrow. In his haste to find what he now knew was not Beth inside, he had been careless and dropped it. He lurched forward and grabbed it, turning the handle in his hand.

"Come on out, now. Ya hear?" Daryl called gruffly.

No response came from the hole.

"Ain't gonna hurt ya," he tried again, willing his voice to sound soothing and reassuring.

"I-I'm armed!" A voice responded shakily.

The voice was decidedly female, and if the idea wasn't so ridiculous, Daryl would have guessed it belonged to a child. A full grown man trying to survive in this world alone was a stretch, let alone a kid.

Daryl fought back a bemused smirk. "Expect as much. Listen, I ain't got all day. If you wanna stay in there, fine."

He turned noisily, emphatically rustling his feet in the brush.

"Wait!" The voice cried.

Daryl grunted in weary amusement and turned back around to face the burrow. He watched as two small hands breached the opening and saw a filthy blue and white baseball cap emerge.

"Damn," Daryl gasped in spite of himself. "You're just a kid!"


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Sorry for the delay! BUT at least it's 3x the size of the first chapter! Reviews are super amaze-balls, by the way. ;)_

**Chapter 2**

Daryl found himself staring slack-jawed at the small girl in front of him. Two hazel eyes peered warily back at him and he noticed that she was tense, like she was ready to bolt at the slightest sound or movement. The girl stood firmly in her tracks, however, her left hand clasped her right forearm in front of her tiny body defensively.

The girl was filthy, dirt and blood smeared across her ratty jeans and purple t-shirt, layered over a striped long sleeve shirt. The weather had started cooling, especially at night, so it didn't raise any alarms when Daryl noted that the girl was shivering slightly as she sized him up herself. Daryl's eyes fell on the girl's right arm and he realized then that she was shielding it from his sight. He stared momentarily at the dried blood caking her sleeve that was far too fresh looking to have come from a walker.

"You're bit."

He held back a wince as he realized his voice lacked the inflection of a question and probably sounded a hell of a lot more accusatory than he meant it to.

"No!" The girl protested. She covered her injured arm protectively, turning her body sideways while keeping her suspicious gaze on Daryl.

"What's that, then?" Daryl retorted, pointing at her arm. He subconsciously turned his hunting knife in his hand. It wasn't until the girl's eyes widened fearfully that he realized what he was doing. He quickly wiped the gore off the blade on his pants - it wasn't like he could stink any worse - and slid it into the holder at his hip.

The girl visibly relaxed as Daryl unarmed himself and seemed to straighten her posture defiantly.

"I was bit," she admitted. "But not by a walker."

Daryl's eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to read the girl's face for any indication that she was lying. He waited impatiently for a further explanation.

"If it ain't a walker bite, what is it?" he asked, annoyance edging his voice.

The girl hung her head momentarily. "A dog," she replied sadly.

The scruffy white dog that had brought on the mass of walkers that had ultimately separated him and Beth flashed briefly in Daryl's mind.

"Where is it?" He demanded.

"Dead," the girl replied.

Daryl ran his tongue along the inside of his lip as he mulled it over.

"If yer lyin' to me, I got no problem puttin' a bolt through yer head," Daryl warned. Whether he would actually do it was moot, but she didn't need to know that. He may have difficulty communicating with people, but he could spot a liar from a mile away. He watched for her reaction intently. To his surprise, the girl straightened her shoulders and her eyes narrowed determinedly.

"If it was a walker, I'd end it myself," she said defiantly. "But I think it's infected, and I know that you don't have to get bit to come back."

Daryl nodded, satisfied and a little impressed with the girl's answer. She sure as hell didn't look like much, but she was a scrappy little thing. "Well, let's see if we can find something to clean it up."

He shouldered his crossbow and turned to head back toward the road. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the girl hadn't moved. "You comin' or what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me my name?" she asked.

Daryl shrugged. "Don't really matter, does it?" Even Daryl wasn't sure why he was being such a dick to the kid. Maybe he was tired, or maybe just tired of losing people. He didn't even really know what to do with a kid her age. Of course he had spent time with Carl, but he was never solely responsible for him. Plus, Carl was a tough little bastard and the kid in front of him was just a little girl. She didn't look much older than Sophia...

The girl shrugged and stepped tentatively towards him, tiptoeing around the scattered carcasses around her. She paused and eyed him warily. "You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

Daryl ignored the pang in his chest at the question. Looking at the girl, it was easy to see she had been through hell. But then again, who hadn't in this world?

"Wouldn't have wasted my time savin' yer ass if I was," he replied gruffly.

"You thought I was Beth," the girl pointed out.

Daryl scowled at her. "You always this mouthy?" he demanded.

The girl shrugged. "Sometimes," she replied.

Daryl snorted and turned away from her. She definitely was a feisty little thing and he also guessed that she was a huge pain in the ass. "Listen kid," he said. "You can come with me or you can stay. I don't give a shit which, but if yer with me, you do what I tell ya to. Got me?"

"Yep."

Satisfied with her reply, Daryl began walking back towards the road where he had come from. He heard the crunching of the girl's footsteps as she scurried over to catch up to him. They navigated the woods for a few minutes of blissful silence before the girl piped up.

"Who is Beth?"

Daryl sighed inwardly. "Don't wanna talk about it," he replied, pushing past some small branches with such force that they cracked and flopped pathetically from the damaged fibres that still connected them to the tree.

"Is she your wife?" the girl asked, undeterred.

Daryl felt the heat rise to his cheeks. "Rule number two, don't ask stupid questions," he growled.

"Soooorrrrrry," the girl retorted. Her sarcasm was not lost on Daryl and maybe in different circumstances he would have found it amusing. He was physically and mentally exhausted and now he had someone else to look after. Beth's inexperience in this world was difficult enough to contend with and she was technically an adult at 18. She had taken stupid risks searching for alcohol, although he admittedly let her, and now he was stuck with a kid younger than Carl.

"Can you at least tell me your name so I don't have to think of you as the smelly guy with the crossbow?" The girl asked, haughtily.

Daryl fought back a laugh. Ballsy little shit. "If I tell you, will you shut up?" He snapped back.

"Yes," she replied, she mumbled something afterwards that sounded suspiciously like "for now", but Daryl relented anyway.

"Daryl," he grunted. "Now be quiet so I can figure out where the hell we are."

"I'm Clementine," the girl replied, triumphantly.

Daryl sighed audibly in exasperation. "What I just say?"

"Sorry," Clementine said, fighting back a grin.

* * *

Clementine and Daryl walked down the road for what seemed like ages before they came across a disheveled, modest house. The grass was overgrown and weeds overtook what Clementine imagined was once a pristine front garden. Daryl was grumpy and barely spoke more than two words to her at a time and usually included the words "shut up." Anything more than that was clipped sentences reminding her of the two rules he'd set back in the woods. They moved at a fairly quick pace, as Daryl had mentioned a herd a few miles back and they wouldn't be too far behind them.

Her armed throbbed terribly and the angry red surrounding the wound reminded her of the urgency to find something to properly dress and clean it. It was deep and probably needed stitches. She hoped Daryl knew how to do it and that he would be more gentle than how he acted.

He scared her at first, his eyes narrowed dangerously at her when she had crawled out of the hole she hid in to get away from the walkers. She initially thought he was with the group of men that she and her former guardian Christa ran into. The ones that started the whole mess she was in. If they hadn't come along, she wouldn't have encountered the dog that bit her or get lost in the woods. Worst of all, she had found herself alone. She knew Christa had promised Lee, who became her surrogate father when the world went bad, that she and her husband Omid would take care of her. Now they were all gone.

She wasn't sure what made her trust Daryl. He was brash and not overly friendly, but if her old friend Lee taught her anything, it was that other people were needed to survive this cruel world. Daryl certainly looked like he could handle his own out here and she knew tagging along with him would help her chances at surviving.

"Place is boarded up," Daryl muttered as they made their way up to the weathered covered porch. She followed his gaze and saw the wood secured over the windows on the first floor.

"That's good right? That means it hasn't been looted yet, maybe there is still supplies in there," Clementine mused, gingerly touching her injured arm.

"Ain't worried about what got in," Daryl replied, trying to peer between the small gaps in the boards. The screen door squeaked in protest as he pulled it open and he paused to listen.

"Did you hear anything?" Clementine asked anxiously.

"Yeah," Daryl replied dryly. "An annoying kid who don't know how to keep her mouth shut."

Clementine sighed in response but decided not to test him further. She watched as he tried the knob on the heavy wooden door.

"Locked," Daryl muttered. "Probably boarded up, too."

"We can always go through the second floor," Clementine suggested. She had stepped off the porch and was staring at the unboarded windows above thoughtfully.

Daryl snorted. "Yeah? And how we gonna do that? Sprout wings and fly?" he demanded dismissively.

"You can boost me up on top of the porch and I can climb through the windows," Clementine explained.

Daryl stared at her incredulously. "You got a death wish, kid? Don't know what's behind those walls. Probably a whole family in there waiting to rip you apart," he argued.

"I'm dead anyway if I don't get anything to clean up my arm," Clementine stated matter-of-factly. "And I'm stronger than you think."

Daryl scoffed. "What are ya, eight?"

"Eleven," Clementine corrected. "Almost 12. I think..."

He joined her on the overgrown grass and stared at the porch thoughtfully. "Maybe I can jump up and grab hold of the roof..."

"It's pretty high," Clementine pointed out doubtfully.

Daryl had already placed his crossbow on the grass and was sizing up the porch. He took a couple of steps back and charged forward, leaping into the air. His fingers curled around the eaves trough and the worn aluminum screeched in protest before giving way and sending the hunter falling flat on his back. He groaned as the air was emptied from his lungs until the girl's face appeared above him, peering down at him.

"Told you," she said. She offered her good hand to him and he swatted at it before rolling over onto his hands and knees, wheezing, as oxygen finally made its way back where it belonged.

He glared at her as he climbed to his feet, kicking the buckled aluminum angrily.

"I ain't sending you in there alone," he barked, raking his fingers through his hair.

"I can handle it," Clementine countered determinedly.

"What ya gonna do, talk 'em to death?" Daryl demanded, frustrated. "We're gonna have to keep moving."

Clementine dug into her pocket and produced a small pen knife. She had found it at an abandoned campsite where she had met the dog that had attacked her for the can of beans she was sharing with him.

She saw the disdainful look on Daryl's face as he stared at the small pen knife in her palm.

"I can do this," she said firmly. "My arm is getting worse and the next house could be looted."

Daryl sighed. He didn't like how he was suddenly responsible for the life of a child. Sending her into a house with unknown dangers didn't sit well with him at all. As far as he could tell, they were far removed from any towns, and the houses were spread far apart. This could very well be their only chance. He suddenly felt sympathy for Rick, who had battled almost of a daily basis to protect Carl, who was adamant that he could handle any situation that even the most hardened members of the group struggled with. Even still, he had more confidence that Carl would be able to handle his own in that house than Clementine.

He quickly scanned the yard for a chair or anything to give him a boost up so he could reach the porch's roof and found nothing. The kid sure as hell couldn't boost him up, she looked like she weighed as much as one of his arms.

"Don't bite your nails," Clementine said suddenly.

Daryl snapped out of his internal battle with himself and realized he was chewing on his thumbnail.

"You know how many germs are under your nails?" the girl lectured. "My mom once told me there was fecal matter under there. That's poop."

"I know what fecal matter is," Daryl scowled, but he dropped his hand from his mouth nonetheless. "You ain't goin' in there alone, and that's final. Rule number one: you listen ta me."

"I can remember the rules, I'm not stupid," Clementine said sourly. She was annoyed that he treated her like she was useless. She marched off towards the back of the house angrily.

"Where ya goin'? Daryl called out after her.

"I have to use the bathroom!" She yelled back. "Or is that against the rules?"

If she wasn't so angry, she'd feel guilty for lying but she had a hunch that couldn't be ignored. She rounded around the back of the house and she could have shouted with glee that she was right. At the bottom of the back door, was a doggy door. With luck, it will be accessible. She pushed away thoughts of how Lee would have scolded her for being reckless. She missed him terribly, even if he would disapprove of her next move.

Clementine approached the door tentatively. She toed the opening and the door flapped open. She hoped there weren't walkers waiting for her, but she pulled out the blade from her penknife in preparation. She took a steadying breath and slid through the opening.

She clambered to her feet as quietly as she could, not even daring to take a breath as she surveyed her surroundings. The beams of light peeking through the gaps in the boards provided her with enough light to see that she was in the kitchen. The vinyl flooring was cracked and peeling and Clementine was mindful to lift her feet high enough so the bottom of her shoes wouldn't catch the warped material and alert any walkers that could be lurking about. She slowly crept towards the doorway and peered around the wooden trim into what looked like the living room.

She exhaled a relieved breath as she saw that the room was empty and she tiptoed into it. To her left, she could see the worn wooden railings of the stairs. The main bathroom was likely where the supplies were kept and it was more than likely on the second floor. As she approached the stairway she froze. A dead woman was pawing at the front door clumsily, having likely been alerted by the noise she and Daryl made when they were checking out the front of the house, and when Daryl ripped the eaves trough down.

The walker was nearly wasted away. Its grey, mottled skin hung like sheets on a clothesline from its bones. Its hair was thin and scraggly and barely covered its scalp. A frustrated groan came from the cadaver as it clawed uselessly at the boarded up door.

Clementine thought for a moment about turning back, but she calmed her nerves and crept forward. This was probably her only chance to get something for her arm. She was now directly behind the walker at the bottom of the stairs. Keeping her eyes trained on the threat that was only mere feet away she stepped up on the first wooden stair gingerly.

_Creeeaaak._

The old oak protested her weight and Clementine's breath caught in her throat. She saw the walker freeze and slowly turn around. She was spotted. The walker growled hungrily and bared its slimy, brown teeth. Boney fingers clawed at the air separating it from the fresh meat before it.

Clementine gasped and darted up the stairs, her sneakers pounding on the wood surface with every step. Stealth was no longer her priority. She reached the top and yelped as another walker reached for her as she ran by it. She felt her shirt snag on its fingers but it wasn't able to get a grip. She saw a room to her left and she ran for it. She slammed the door behind her and leaned against it as she tried to catch her breath. Mercifully, it seemed to be empty. It appeared to be the master bedroom, judging from the queen sized bed and neutral decor. She winced as she felt the walkers slam into the door behind her with a loud bang.

She slowly stepped away and the door creaked in protest at the weight on the other side pressing on it, but it seemed to hold. She hurried over to the window and saw nothing but a long fall on the other side. The jump wouldn't kill her, but she would probably break a leg, or at the very least, sprain an ankle. She thought about how angry Daryl would be having to carry her around until she healed...or until she died from infection, as her arm throbbed painfully to remind her she still needed to get medical supplies. She quickly looked around for anything she could use to get past the walkers on the other side of the door. She saw a night stand beside the bed and opened the drawer.


End file.
